


With Love, Kenny

by Xaverri



Category: South Park
Genre: Attempt at Humor, Drabble, Hangover, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-13
Updated: 2018-06-13
Packaged: 2019-05-21 21:23:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,234
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14923088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xaverri/pseuds/Xaverri
Summary: It's never nice when roommates make fun of your celebrity crush. Especially when they're acquainted...





	With Love, Kenny

Kenny came to her room one day, uncharacteristically knocking on her door - even waiting for her call to enter. She was just finishing up with a paper so held up a hand to indicate him to wait, not wanting to lose her focus. When she was done, she found her roommate checking out her shrine, hands in pockets, amused smile lifting the corner of his lips.

“Oh, uhm…” She started hesitantly, not wanting to blush as that would be silly.

“Didn’t know you were a fan of the Chargers, or a fan of football at all.”

“My brother used to watch when I was little, I guess it’s one of those things that simply grew on me.”

Kenny glanced at her, pointing to the framed, autographed picture of the starting quarterback; “You’ve met him?”

“No,” she sighed, “It was a present from a friend. I think he got it off Ebay or something. I’m not even sure if it’s his real autograph. Don’t have the money or time to go to a game, let alone hang around the back like some groupie. Which-I’m-not,” she added hastily.

“You’ve never been to a game?” He looked incredulously. She shrugged, keeping it nonchalant. “I know I’ll go one day, once I’m done with school. I’m not that much in a rush.”

“But hey, _he_ might not be playing, anymore.” Kenny waved at the poster of the same player in mid-throw. She’d never admit it out loud, but it was one of her favourites: a practise shot, without the full gear, showing off his arms nicely.

She shrugged again, looking to the side, hoping it hid her worry at the thought of never seeing him play live.

“You do know he’s gay, right?”

Her head jerked back at where he was smirking at her, far too cheekily.

“Yes, I do. And I don’t like him like that,” she spat a little too defensively for her own taste. “He’s a talented quarterback and I admire his style. His sexual preference has nothing to do with that.”

“Right,” he said, stretching out the i. She shot him another look to which he held up his hands placatingly. “Just messing! Okay, how about we go together, then? I heard they’ll be playing the Bronco’s here, soon.”

She scoffed, a small smile gracing her lips. She desperately wanted to agree to that plan, but wouldn’t see that happen any time soon. She knew how careful Kenny was with his purchases and couldn’t imagine him splurge out the money needed for an NFL game. It was a pleasant thought, however, and a nice gesture for sure.

Her eyes narrowed, “How did you know about the upcoming game? As a matter of fact; what about his preferences? That’s not something a casual fan would pick up on - and I don’t think I’ve ever seen you watch sports at all.”

“I knew nothing about your little obsession, either,” he countered. “If you’re allowed your secrets, why can’t I?”

“Fair enough.” She bit her lip, studying his all too cool stance. “But yeah, as nice an idea it is to go see them, I don’t think you realise those games have been sold out for months already.”

“Oh, really?” he said, mischievous twinkle lightening up his eyes. “That’s a shame, then. Guess you’ll have to wait a little while longer before you get to see this ass running around in real life. And what a fine ass it is, don’t you agree? Oh – I mean, a _talented_ ass, of course.”

He winked at how she couldn’t stop her cheeks from heating this time.

“Shut up.”

His laugh was far too knowingly.

 

\---

 

Sunday morning. She woke up to the sounds of birds chirping outside the window. Spring was nearing and with it came the return of songbirds and early-morning sunshine. She stretched leisurely, drowsily rubbing the sand out of her eyes before leaning over to grab her phone off the nightstand.

A text-message notification from Kenny made her frown; Kenny never texted. He didn’t like doing so on the not-so-smart-phone he owned and rather just called people, leaving a voicemail message in case it was needed.

She opened the message.

**Kenny @ 06:15 am: Left a present for you on the couch, enjoy ;)**

Barely awake, she tried to remember what Kenny had been doing last night. Catching up with some old friends that visited town? What kind of present would that entail?

She rolled out of bed, not bothering to get dressed out of her pyjama’s seeing as Kenny would’ve been out and about hours ago and their third room-mate, Butters, spent most of his weekends over at Taffy’s. Slipping her feet into pink fluffy sandals while yawning widely, she shuffled towards the living room. Coffee first, then she could check out this ‘present’ that would be on the-…

Her thoughts halted. She had cast a fugitive glance towards the couches, the sight stopping her dead in her tracks. A sense of Deja-vu crept over her, back to when she was but a guest in this household. The difference was that there were no bottles of booze lining the table now, just a towel and bucket. Another change was the mop of hair being black instead of blonde. For the rest, it was exactly how she had first met Kenny; sprawled out on the couch like a drunk hobo. Loud snoring included.

Except this wasn’t Kenny.

His hair reminded her of Craig’s, but in no way could this be the same tall, slender boy. The shoulders on _this_ guy were quite more expansive, she concluded, raking her eyes all over his back, which just happened to be very naked all down to his hips. Thank heavens he had jeans on, she was already fighting the blush creeping up her neck at finding a shirtless drunk shamelessly sleeping off his hangover on their couch.

Breath caught in her throat when the guy mumbled in his sleep, clutching the pillows beneath his head tight before he sagged down again, relaxing the prominent muscles in his arms. She exhaled softly when he stayed silent. Then, belatedly, panic caught up with her. Who the heck was this guy and why was he asleep on their couch? What the hell did she do? Wake him and demand him to explain or just let him sleep and hope Kenny would be home soon?

Kenny! She could hit herself there and then. Of course; this must be one of the old friends he had been talking about.

Curiosity battled with the urge to flee the scene, and won. She crept up to the couch, circumventing it to stand in front. Stealthily, carefully, she crouched down. She told herself it was just to check if he was alright, certainly not to discover whether his face was as attractive as the rest of him.

The first thing she noticed was the writing across his forehead.

In a messy scrawl of black it said; **All yours! xx Kenny**

“What the-,” for the second time that day all her thoughts flew out of the windows when she glanced at the stranger’s face. She gasped loudly, falling back on her ass, narrowly avoiding bumping against the table. Frozen, she stared at the face she had dreamily gazed at for many years.

Stan fucking March.

Without a doubt; Stanley March of the LA Chargers, starting quarterback, was sleeping off a hangover in front of her. A sound not unlike a choking cat escaped her. He shifted and opened one deep-blue eye, blearily.

A few seconds passed where she stared at him with wide-eyes, him drowsily blinking back, confused. Something flashed in his eyes. He gasped for air. Then he screamed, high-pitched, and scrambled back on the couch until he tumbled over the back of it. The large thud when he hit the ground shook her fully awake.

“Oh my God! Are you alright?”

His head popped up from behind the couch, and he clutched it immediately, clenching his eyes shut. “Ow, ow, ow, mother _fucker_!” He peeked an eye open again, stared at her, then turned pale and moved a hand in front of his mouth.

Her reflexes kicked in, and she quickly grabbed the bucket behind her, which thankfully was empty, and kneeled on the couch to pass it to him. Then she turned away to give him some privacy as he threw up the contents of his stomach.

With a stammered excuse that she wasn’t even sure he could hear over his retching, she fled to her bedroom, grabbed her phone and forcefully punched in Kenny’s contact. She paced her room while waiting for the ringer to go to voicemail, trying to swallow her heart back to her chest from where it was beating a rapid tattoo in her throat. All her mind could come up with right then was “Why” and “What” and “How”, so this was the first thing she spluttered into the receiver when Kenny’s voicemail beep sounded.

Then; “I’m gonna kill you, you bastard!” before she hung up with a scream.

Murdering Kenny would have to wait. She had more pressing matters to address. Like the fact that Stan fucking March was in her living room throwing up, and she had just left him there. Another whine left her throat, knowing she had to go back in and check on him. Offer him a drink, sit him down, make _small-talk_ as if she hadn’t the biggest celebrity crush on the guy.

She pushed all that out of her mind. What was important was that she had _manners_ \- she’d take care of her guest’s needs first-most. Steeling her resolve, she stepped back into the living room where Stan was back on the couch, elbows resting on his knees, fingers in his hair. She didn’t see the bucket anywhere so hoped he had cleaned it out somewhere. A glass of water was in front of him, further affirming her thoughts of him having explored his way into the kitchen. He looked up at her, hair sticking out in adorable fashion, shame written all over his face. Well – Kenny’s message was written all over his face, but _figuratively_.

“I’m so, so sorry.” His voice was rough, but instantly recognisable from the many interviews she had watched on YouTube. It made a chill run down her spine. He cast a look around. “No offense, but I have no clue what I’m doing here.” He looked at her wearily.

“That makes two of us,” she mumbled.

He breathed a sigh of relief. “Thank fuck, I mean - not that you’re not pretty but Kyle would kill me if-” He promptly shut his mouth, jaws closing with an audible click, face scrunching up. “I’m sorry,” he repeated lamely.

Heat burst out across her skin, realising what he had thought. Imagining it – despite herself. Feeling faint, she yelped out, “No, no no no! I just woke up myself and found you here on the couch! Nothing happened!”

She sat down on the opposite couch carefully, eyeing him. “I think Kenny dropped you off here last night, would that make sense?”

He leaned back, looking up at the ceiling in thought. “Yeah, if my hangover is an indication, I don’t think Ky- erm, my partner, would’ve wanted me around last night. Oh jeez, he’s going to be such a bitch to deal-“

A loud banging sounded from the door, startling both occupants of the room. They locked stares for a second, mirroring a clueless shrug to the other. Belatedly remembering she was the one living here, she got up to see who’d be so rude to disturb the most bizarre but amazing moment in her life.

Slightly annoyed at the interruption – it was probably just the old, complaining fart from upstairs – she shoved the door open to glare at a smallish, red-haired guy on the other side. “Yes?” she demanded, giving his impeccably dressed figure a once-over.

He returned her glare with an impressive sneer, eyeing her pyjama-clad body in return with disdain. “Who the fuck are _you_?”

“Excuse me?” she spluttered, the urge to throw the door into his face tempered only by her curiosity as to why this stylish man was insulting her from her doorstep.

Behind her, she heard Stan scramble off the couch, a string of “shit-shit-shit” tumbling out of his mouth. A lightbulb lit up in her head; “You’re Kyle.”

“Ding, ding, ding, bitch,” he deadpanned. “Now where the fuck is my lousy excuse of a boyfriend?”

She stepped back, too stunned to reciprocate the rudeness, allowing him to storm pass her like a tornado. A few steps in and he found Stan, standing in the living room, still very much naked from the waist up. Kyle took in his half-dressed state, then the ink on his forehead.

“Oh – you motherfucker,” he seethed.

“Babe,” Stan said quickly, holding out his hands. “I can explain, it’s not what you think. Please don’t explode on me, just-“

Kyle exploded. In an instant, he had crossed the space between them. She looked on with horrified incredulity how the one that seemed like he just walked out of a fashion magazine, hooked the star-athlete that was over a head taller than him, square in the nose – decking him in a single punch.

He turned towards where she was standing, frozen, and sniffed haughtily. "He's lucky I don't have a knife on me."

**Author's Note:**

> This is part of a bigger AU that I'll never finish, so thought to just post it as it was fun to write. Thanks to Eleanor for coming up with the plot together!


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